Mark Twain, a Biography. Complete eBook

Without doubt there must be many—­very many—­who
agree in finding a fuller enjoyment in ‘A Tramp
Abroad’ than in the ‘Innocents’;
only, the burden of the world’s opinion lies
the other way. The world has a weakness for its
illusions: the splendor that falls on castle walls,
the glory of the hills at evening, the pathos of the
days that are no more. It answers to tenderness,
even on the page of humor, and to genuine enthusiasm,
sharply sensing the lack of these things; instinctively
resenting, even when most amused by it, extravagance
and burlesque. The Innocents Abroad is more soul-satisfying
than its successor, more poetic; more sentimental,
if you will. The Tramp contains better English
usage, without doubt, but it is less full of happiness
and bloom and the halo of romance. The heart
of the world has felt this, and has demanded the book
in fewer numbers.—­[The sales of the Innocents
during the earlier years more than doubled those of
the Tramp during a similar period. The later
ratio of popularity is more nearly three to one.
It has been repeatedly stated that in England the
Tramp has the greater popularity, an assertion not
sustained by the publisher’s accountings.]

CXXVII

LETTERS, TALES, AND PLANS

The reader has not failed to remark the great number
of letters which Samuel Clemens wrote to his friend
William Dean Howells; yet comparatively few can even
be mentioned. He was always writing to Howells,
on every subject under the sun; whatever came into
his mind —­business, literature, personal
affairs—­he must write about it to Howells.
Once, when nothing better occurred, he sent him a series
of telegrams, each a stanza from an old hymn, possibly
thinking they might carry comfort.—­["Clemens
had then and for many years the habit of writing to
me about what he was doing, and still more of what
he was experiencing. Nothing struck his imagination,
in or out of the daily routine, but he wished to write
me of it, and he wrote with the greatest fullness
and a lavish dramatization, sometimes to the length
of twenty or forty pages:” (My Mark Twain,
by W. D. Howells.)] Whatever of picturesque happened
in the household he immediately set it down for Howells’s
entertainment. Some of these domestic incidents
carry the flavor of his best humor. Once he wrote:

Last night, when I went to bed, Mrs.
Clemens said, “George didn’t take
the cat down to the cellar; Rosa says he has left it
shut up in the conservatory.” So I
went down to attend to Abner (the cat). About
three in the morning Mrs. C. woke me and said, “I
do believe I hear that cat in the drawing-room.
What did you do with him?” I answered with
the confidence of a man who has managed to do the
right thing for once, and said, “I opened
the conservatory doors, took the library off the
alarm, and spread everything open, so that there
wasn’t any obstruction between him and the cellar.”